


One Night Only

by Whisper132



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-07
Updated: 2007-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper132/pseuds/Whisper132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their adult lives, chances for Sengoku and Atobe to meet are rare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night Only

In the reporting world, a scoop was hard to find. Sengoku Kiyosumi had luck on his side and charisma that won him friends in high places. He was Pro Tennis Monthly's golden boy and a big name in the sports reporting scene, appearing regularly on the news as a guest commentator. He had a slew of exclusives under his belt, but this one was the exclusive of exclusives: a one time interview with the elusive Atobe Keigo.

After his second place win at Wimbledon, Atobe agreed to one interview and one interview only. Since breaking onto the pro tennis scene, Atobe kept to himself, disappearing immediately after his matches, refusing to speak to the press. Now his agent was calling, demanding Sengoku Kiyosumi. There were no discussions, just an envelope with the request and a plane ticket to take Sengoku to England and back. He would arrive in the afternoon and fly out the following afternoon. The room key was enclosed, room number to be handed to Sengoku in a sealed envelope when he arrived at Heathrow.

***

Sengoku entered a taxi driven by a nice old man who smiled and spoke at him in English so thickly accented that Sengoku could only make out every tenth word or so. He gave the old man the hotel's business card and relaxed back in the taxi, mentally reviewing all the questions he planned to ask Japan's most celebrated tennis player: What did it feel like to win second place at his Wimbledon debut? Was he planning to go for a Grand Slam next season? Sengoku pondered these things as the taxi raced and swerved through London – or wherever they were. After half an hour, they pulled up in front of a small inn surrounded by cows.

The paper in his hand told him to go to room 3. Sengoku grabbed his small duffel of clothes and left the prepaid cab. His questions were fresh in his mind and his voice recorder had new batteries; he was ready to go.

***

The last time Sengoku saw Atobe was three years ago at Atobe's high school graduation party. They didn't say much to eachother; they didn't particularly need to. Atobe was leaving for England and a pro tennis career and Sengoku was staying to do something, he wasn't sure what, but it was going to be exciting and new and wonderful.

Three years made a world of difference in a person, apparently. Lounging in a chair in the corner was a calm, mature Atobe Keigo, his blinding arrogance traded for hard won confidence, his flamboyant clothes tossed out for a suit and tie. Sengoku sat down in the chair next to Atobe's and silently began preparing his things: notebook, pen, voice recorder.

"No recorders," Atobe said, pushing the device back. "I'll repeat whatever you need to write down, but no recordings." Atobe eyed the digital camera Sengoku was removing from his bag. "And no pictures." Atobe leaned forward and pressed the camera back into Sengoku's bag.

When Atobe's fingers brushed his, Sengoku forgot Wimbledon and Pro Tennis Monthly. The only word he could remember ghosted out of him in a light whisper. "Keigo."

He had always been amazed at how small Atobe felt in his arms but now, after so long, Atobe felt enormous, his firm body more than enough for Sengoku to fold his arms around while Atobe trailed his tongue over the upper shell of Sengoku's ear. Together, they stumbled toward the sketchy looking queen sized bed.

***

Sengoku awoke to a preset alarm at 8am. Keigo was gone but left his tie wrapped around a small notebook that proclaimed 'Interview' on its front cover. Inside were all the answers to the questions Sengoku so readily forgot the previous night. On the last page was a post it note.

 _To be continued after my Grand Slam victory. Don't do anything to embarrass me. – Keigo_

Folding the post it into his wallet, Sengoku showered and changed; his plane left in four hours and he didn't want to be away from home longer than necessary. He only had three years to find the perfect house and the perfect car for himself and Keigo, three more years until Atobe took over the family business and Sengoku transitioned from sports reporting to freelance business editorials. Until then, he would wake up to an empty bed, waiting for Atobe's next big win and a one night exclusive.


End file.
